Depression is often referred to a battle with the black dog. It comes without rhyme or reason, and sits on your chest. Dragging you back as you try to move forward, drawing all the energy, creativity, and obviously joy from your body.

It sucks, to say the least. It’s difficult to explain, which is difficult for your partner, which makes it even more difficult. Today was supposed to be great, I have many speaking engagements, which I love, and the first copy of my book is coming in the post today.

​And I feel like crap.

​You are not alone in your depression.

The reason I started talking, and writing, about my battle with the black dog, is because it is often kept too damn quiet. It’s seen as shameful, or weak. I wanted other people to know, that they are not alone. It helps me greatly to know that I am not alone. A friend of mine bravely posted a shot of her antidepressants on Instagram the other day, so I did too.

​Winston Churchill, probably one of the greatest human of the previous century, suffered from severe manic-depression. The black dog would hold him down for months at a time. He for example never stood on the edges of buildings, or cliffs, or near the edge of the train platform. Knowing that it would be easy to just take a step, and escape the black dog forever.